Page 4 of Dream a Little Dream

Pink hair aside, he didn’t like standing out.

As the beat dropped, a shift in the atmosphere tugged his senses. He had an innate knack for picking up on the emotions of strangers. As though he sought feelings from others to make up the shortfall of his own. He studied them, wondering why he didn’tfeelthem. And there was something right then. Something calling to him across the club. Through the frenzy of gyrating forms, a face shrouded in shadow caught his attention.

Intense. Familiar. Like the remains of a dream.

Without a drop of alcohol having passed his lips, he couldn’t blame the haziness on substance abuse. There’d beanotherreason. And it could bethereason. The reason he’d been coming here for three years. Hoping. Wondering. He knew most of the regular men who came cruising in Inferno. And they all gawked at him from the sideline, too, wishing they knew how to capture his attention. He never cared to look back, though.

But therehewas.

Aaron’s breath hitched.

Raucous noise faded to a distant hum, and the connection to this bloke wrenched. As if he’d thrown out an invisible thread, infiltrated the sliver of space between the crowd, and latched it onto him.

Hooked.

The man emerged from the shade, dipped forward, resting his elbows on the railing separating the elevated bar area from the dancefloor, and stared at him.

It was him. Most definitelyhim.

Late thirties. Or was he forties, now? Thick mound of dark hair speckled with hints of grey, too long to be a short back and sides, too short to be working a cool, artistic looseness. A style that hadn’t made it into the barber’s chair for a while, maybe for years. Down to his jawline, where he maintained a tightly trimmed beard. His face, handsome for sure, but weathered as if he’d seen some atrocities in his lifetime—Aaronknewhe had. And his figure hugging suit trousers and tight white shirt clung to a mature body holding onto the vestige of a once-health conscious youth.

He didn’t look the type who roamed the basement bars of central London’s gay district on an average Saturday night. Because he didn’tlivein London. He roamed somewhere much further away. He was here onbusiness. A conference. And as he had before, he’d taken the opportunity to let out his wild side and slink into the shadows unnoticed.

Aaronhad noticed.

Because he’d been waiting for him.

At first glance, he might not appear any different to the other men who sipped their drinks ogling him on the dancefloor. Getting off, getting high, getting their fill before heading back to their wife and child, or the city job where no one suspected that their deepest darkest desire was to fuck a twink on the dancefloor while everyone watched. But this one wasn’tthatbasic. He wasdistinctive. Had an air of illusion. Kept people guessing.

Aaron couldn’t look away.

The man watched him right back.Onlyhim. As if for the first time, he’d finally noticed. Did he know?No. There was norecognition. There was just…attraction. The pink had worked. No longer fishing, he’d caught Aaron in his net. Trapped and ensnared, he didn’t even attempt to escape, waiting for him to decide when to drag him out. When to be his saviour.

Or his executioner.

The spell was fleeting, though. Broken by the surge of dancers as they reclaimed their territory. Aaron blinked, the connection severed, leaving him with a lingering sense of loss, like when his dreams dissolved upon waking.

Dream a little dream…

The beat picked up, and the music reclaimed him again. Swaying, he attempted to get back to what he’d come in here for. To dance. Because he knew it would be foolish to try for anything else. He’d seen him. That’s all he needed. But a hand grasped his hip from behind, followed by a groin nestling into his arse, thick hardness within, rash and probing and pissing him the fuck off. Incensed, Aaron twisted to inspect the man brazen enough to put his hands on him. Early twenties, exceptionally hot, no doubt a gym queen, gave him a sultry look as if unaware of how rejection could sting.

First time for everything.

“Fuck off.”

The bloke ripped his hand away as if Aaron were on fire. Another man came over, tapping the gym queen’s chest and urging him away before he did something stupid. Which would be to remain anywhere within Aaron’s proximity. Because Aaron didn’t need height and bulk to warn people off. Didn’t need friends waiting in the wings to rush to his aid. Didn’t need backup.

He had the devil watching him.

The throng moved, creating a line of sight to the bar, and the shark he’d snagged came back into view again. Sipping on whisky, leaning over the barrier, a smirk dancing on his face asthough he’d watched that scene play out, and itamusedhim. So Aaron spiralled to face him, gym queen now lost at sea, and cocked his head.

Did he dare try?

Dareplay?

“You want this?”he mouthed, gesturing to his entire body.

The man sipped on his whisky.

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